Cap Hanson, who had been off supervising the boring operations came up behind him just in time to overhear these final words. He asked. "Still talkin' about that lake, Lancelot? What for? Why do you have to go down there and snoop around?" "Because," explained Biggs, "I've been worrying about it, and I've just decided why it was built." "Well?" Biggs said slowly, "Steichner is a pirate; right?" "Doubled and redoubled," I conceded, "in spades. So what?" "We know he has a fleet of swift space-cruisers, no?" "Yes." "Well, then--_where are those cruisers_?" I gulped and stared at him. So did Hanson. Then the two of us shook our heads and said together, "I don't know." "Neither do I," admitted Biggs grimly, "for certain. But logic tells me it can be only one place. Hidden from view beneath the waters of that artificial lake--concealed, poised for deadly striking upon any unwary attacker!" * * * * * And there's an example of typical Biggsian reasoning. It had never occurred to either of us to wonder at the absence of a spacefleet we should have known must be somewhere around. But the moment Biggs hurled his bombshell we knew he must be right. It was the only explanation which satisfied the mystery of the lake on lakeless Iris. Steichner moored his spacecraft under water to hide them from the view of potentially hostile visitors. From their aqueous vantage-point they could emerge in the split of a second, guns spewing lethal flames to smash down the Patrol if and when the Patrol ever moved to capture Steichner's stronghold! I yelped, "Great swooning serpents, let me get to my bug--" and started for the ship's radio. But Biggs grabbed my shoulder. "Not so fast, Sparks! Don't send any warning about the lake in your message--not even in Company code. Steichner is a clever man. His experts might discover we knew their secret, and that would be just too bad--for us. We'd upset their applecart, yes; but we wouldn't be alive to enjoy the fruits of our victory. And--" He grinned wryly--"oddly enough, I have an ardent desire to keep on living." It was the suddenness of his words which trapped the Old Man. He nodded and said reassuringly, "Of course, my boy. And you will. Why, these days a bum ticker doesn't mean anything. Lots of men have 'em and perk right along--" Then he stopped, crimsoning, as he realized what he had said. Biggs stared at him open-mouthed, then turned to me. I avoided his eyes. I couldn't help it. Biggs said, "Bum ticker, Dad?" Hanson said miserably, "I'm sorry, boy. I meant to break it gentler than that, but it sort of slipped out." "You mean--" said Biggs dazedly--"I didn't pass the physical examination? It--it showed my heart was bad?" I nodded. "That's right, Lanse." "But--but it can't be! I feel perfect. I--" His eyes darkened with a new fear. "I'll be grounded!" he cried.